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I'm moving over to hawthorncrataegus - please follow me there instead!

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i did this poster series for a class project on the right to work. it’s not actually affiliated with the department of labor. 

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Mai is stiff competition, though. They are so well matched! Teen Dirtbags in love.

Zuko is the dirtbaggiest of Dirtbag Teens.

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Georgia Tech. Spring, 2014.

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Zuko is the dirtbaggiest of Dirtbag Teens.

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This is the way it goes. You’re just a kid when your parents die, not even twenty, and however much you’d wanted to be normal, you know this isn’t it. Normal is fighting about whether you should look for another job and visiting your parents with a baby in your arms. Normal, you’re almost sure, isn’t built on mysterious deaths and talks with the police and demon deals. But you were never meant to be normal. For a while you think you can be. Normal and safe, you were promised, and for what you lost you had damn well better be both. You get married, because he’s all you have left and you love him. You get married, and sometimes you look at him and wonder what you thought this would look like, really, because it doesn’t feel like you’d hoped. It’s hard to feel safe when you know there’s nothing keeping evil from the door, not so much as a line of salt or a rowan branch, just the word of someone you can’t trust. You don’t hunt. But you keep a dagger in the dresser and buy too much salt. You wear a charm bracelet and a cross and try to find faith. You have a child and then another. You don’t lose track of time, exactly, but just how much of those ten years remain usually stays in the back of your mind. There’s less and less. You jump at the smallest sound.  One night the lights flicker.

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Nearly 30 years of pouting by Robert Downey Jr.

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Two kids, very messed up from saving two very different fantasy worlds and then returning home where it's like it never happened, take comfort in each other.

This was a fascinating prompt.  I maybe got a little carried away.

Homestuck, AU, Jane & Dirkfrom Curlicue:

——

You spot him right off.

He’s a grade above you—skipped up a year, he’s supposed to be smart.  Smart and talented and weird in that way where even the alienation by most of his older classmates is tinted with a kind of appalled admiration.  So you knew of him in that distant way you know about minor characters in TV shows you don’t watch, a general knowledge with no bearing on your life.

Except today he’s different, and when you see him across the schoolyard you spot it immediately.  He’s in the middle of milling group of departing schoolmates, the crowd flowing around him as they make for buses car rides, and—he’s not just apart, he’s separate.  He stands out from the world like he’s a piece from a completely different puzzle, like his edges are formed in ways not shaped to connect to the people around him.  He watches the other students go by and there’s a brittle, shell-shocked quality to his stillness that you recognize intimately.

Read More

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And They Lived Heterosexually Ever After: Why I’m Not Recapping Once Upon A Time Anymore

There have been some inquiries as to where the Once Upon A Time recaps have gone. This post is meant to answer those inquiries and address something that I believe is of...

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If you ever feel like you’ve fucked up just remember that a whole TEAM of people designed this cash machine to be 15 inches off the ground and no one along the way thought ‘maybe this has a design flaw’

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Turn on the app If you feel unsafe hold your finger on the screen. Once arrived to a safe location, enter your code. If your finger leaves the screen without entering the code law enforcement is notified and your location is tracked through your phone.

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This is a pretty cool survey and there's already some analysis of the results on twitter

»> SURVEY LINK «<

Survey of fan participation and attitudes in the Supernatural fandom. Data is completely anonymous and will never be sold to third parties. Please answer questions to the best of your ability and as completely as possible. Note that you may skip any question if you so choose. Completion should take 5-10 minutes.

Research results and analysis will be made available publicly at fandometrics. Survey link will remain actively through May 1st, with a possibility of extension.

Please distribute widely! It is important that we receive answers from all parts of the fandom.

Thank you in advance for your participation!

»> SURVEY LINK «<

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Hey brother, do you still believe in one another? Hey brother, do you still believe in love, I wonder? Oh, if the sky comes falling down for you, There’s nothing in this world I wouldn’t do. What if I'm far from home? Oh, brother I will hear you call.

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As women, when we’re children we’re taught to enter the world with big hearts. Blooming hearts. Hearts bigger than our damn fists. We are taught to forgive - constantly - as opposed to what young boys are taught: Revenge, to get ‘even.’ Our empathy is constantly made appeals to, often demanded for. If we refuse to show kindness, we are reprimanded. We are not good women if we do not crush our bones to make more space for the world, if we do not spread our entire skin over rocks for others to tread on, if we do not kill ourselves in every meaning of the word in the process of making it cozy for everyone else. It is the heat generated by the burning of our bodies with which the world keeps warm. We are taught to sacrifice so much for so little. This is the general principle all over the world. By the time we are young women, we are tired. Most of us are drained. Some of us enter a lock of silence because of that lethargy. Some of us lash out. When I think of that big, blooming heart we once had, it looks shriveled and worn out now. When I was teaching, I had a young student named Mariam. She was only 11 years old. Some boy pushed her around in class, called her names, broke her spirit for the day. We were sitting under a chestnut tree on a field trip and she asked me if a boy ever hurt me. I told her many did and I destroyed them one by one. I think that’s the first time she ever heard the word ‘destroyed.’ We rarely teach our girls to fight back for the right reasons. Take up more space as a woman. Take up more time. Take your time. You are taught to hide, censor, move about without messing up decorum for a man’s comfort. Whether it’s said or not, you’re taught balance. Forget that. Displease. Disappoint. Destroy. Be loud, be righteous, be messy. Mess up and it’s fine – you are learning to unlearn. Do not see yourself like glass. Like you could get dirty and clean. You are flesh. You are not constant. You change. Society teaches women to maintain balance and that robs us of our volatility. Our mercurial hearts. Calm and chaos. Love only when needed; preserve otherwise. Do not be a moth near the light; be the light itself. Do not let a man’s ocean-big ego swallow you up. Know what you want. Ask yourself first. Decide your own pace. Decide your own path. Be cruel when needed. Be gentle only when needed. Collapse and then re-construct. When someone says you are being obscene, say yes I am. When they say you are being wrong, say yes I am. When they say you are being selfish, say yes I am. Why shouldn’t I be? How do you expect a woman to stand on her two feet if you keep striking her at the ankles. There are multiple lessons we must teach our young girls so that they render themselves their own pillars instead of keeping male approval as the focal point of their lives. It is so important to state your feelings of inconvenience as a woman. We are instructed to tailor ourselves and our discomfort - constantly told that we are ‘whining’ and ‘nagging’ and ‘complaining too much.’ That kind of silence is horribly violent, that kind of insistence upon uniformly nodding in agreement to your own despair, and smiling emptily so no man is ever uncomfortable around us. Male-entitlement dictates a woman’s silence. If we could see the mimetic model of the erasure of a woman’s voice, it would be an incredibly bloody sight. On a breezy July night, my mother and I were sleeping under the open sky. Before dozing off, I told her that I think there is a special place in heaven where all wounded women bury their broken hearts and their hearts grow into trees that only give fruit to the good and poison to the bad. She smiled and said Ameen. Then she closed her eyes.

A Woman of War by Mehreen Kasana (via pbnpineapples)

For truth.

(via teratocybernetics)

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Like fiery eyeball thing, no problem. But don’t even try to imagine a Samoan elf. (x)

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just a few of the signs we made today for our rally on april 24 starting at 8:30AM! thanks to everyone who came out.